


A La Carte

by PrickleBrickleCitrus



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Chef AU, Fingering, Hank Good, Hank has a big dick, Hank's Hands and Fingers Are Very Good, M/M, Semi-established relationship, Sort of creampie, Trans Connor, everyone is human, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 14:39:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16536524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrickleBrickleCitrus/pseuds/PrickleBrickleCitrus
Summary: Connor tilts his head and frowns. “I thought I made my feelings fairly clear. In my own way.”Hank nods, up and down, leans a hip against the counter. “And what feelings are those, Connor?”----------Self-indulgent Chef AU hook-up.





	A La Carte

**Author's Note:**

> This is all Twitter Jericho's fault.
> 
> Roomba, this is for you and your marvelous AU idea that grabbed us all by the balls and never let go. You bless us with a delicious feast every Sunday, it's only fair that I repay the favor.
> 
> There's probably typos, but this exists entirely as a self-indulgent piece for the sake of it. Just relax and enjoy :)

Really, Connor should have expected this. It’s not as if the hints hadn’t been dropped for the past few weeks in between takes; in the way Hank would clap a hand on his shoulder as they took a break or the way the man would look at him from the corner of his eye from across the room. Hank was subtle in public - in his own way, at least. Connor would give him that.

A text from an unknown number at just past two in the morning is not so subtle, however. 

Connor doesn’t need to recognize the number to know who it is. The words flash at him from the screen of his phone, bright in the dim light of his trailer.

_2:30 AM. The kitchen set. Meet me there, alone._

Connor swallows thickly. How in the hell did Hank even get his phone number? Not that he’s complaining, not at all. The past few weeks have been… trying, in many ways. Hank has a way of moving around his own station, with little finesse but all confidence. Like a man who knows he’s good at his craft and doesn’t waste time trying to impress. He lets his work speak for him.

Hank’s grilled oysters from earlier today were proof of that. Sublime, lightly seasoned little things that were, quite frankly, the best damn oysters that Connor has ever eaten. Seeing Hank shuck the darn things with his bare hands had been the cherry on top of the whole event. The way Hank is in the kitchen, his natural strength channeled perfectly into each recipe that he must tackle, it all makes Connor squirm in his chair.

He wonders what Hank’s hands would feel like at his waist, hoisting him up against a wall, spreading his legs and -

Connor snaps his eyes shut and breathes in a shuddering breath. Without another thought, he slips silently from his trailer and makes the short walk over to the kitchen set. For all intents and purposes, the door to the stage should be locked and yet here it is, clearly unlocked and propped open as if waiting for someone to arrive. Waiting for _him_.

Slowly, he pushes the door open and winces as the creak of the hinges echoes throughout the set. It’s pitch black, dead quiet, save for a single light illuminating the front-most station nearest the judges’ panel. A figure is waiting there, and it turns around at the sound of the door.

Connor’s heart beats fast and loud in his own rib cage at the sight. Like always, Hank has a smug little smile on his face, arms crossed as he watches Connor cross the stage towards him. Neither speaks until they are standing face to face, with Connor forced to lift his chin to peer in to Hank’s eyes.

The older man chuckles and runs a hand along the scruff of a beard on his face. “Wasn’t sure you’d show up, to be honest.”

Connor tilts his head and frowns. “I thought I made my feelings fairly clear. In my own way.”

Hank nods, up and down, leans a hip against the counter. “And what feelings are those, Connor?”

A shudder runs down Connor’s spine. They always address each other formally, by last name or title. He’s never heard his own name fall from Hank’s lips, and the sound of it - low, rough, just a bit creaky - does not help his situation at _all_. The heat that climbs up his neck and face doesn’t either.

As smooth as ever, Hank takes the few steps towards him until there’s only a few inches of space between them.

“That I…” Connor blinks, rapidly. He can feel the warmth of Hank’s body emanating from him, and he can’t help feeling a little dizzy. Hank hasn’t changed from his apron or chef’s clothes from earlier today, and Connor can’t help but stare at the way his jacket wraps tight around his torso, how his rolled-up sleeves only emphasize the thickness of his forearms.

“That I want you. Physically.” A pause. “Sexually.”

Hank snorts, shifting so that they are impossibly close and yet their bodies don’t touch. Connor can feel the ghost of Hank’s breath curl along his face as he speaks. “Sexually, huh?”

With a knowing look, Hank lifts one of his hands and runs the back of his index finger along the smooth, sharp line of Connor’s cheek. Connor can feel heat rise in his belly at the touch, at the way Hank pins him with just a stare from those damn baby blues. His heart thumps faster and faster in his chest as Hank leans forward, presses his lips to the shell of Connor’s ear as he splays the fingers of his hand along the lean lines of Connor’s neck.

Hank can probably feel the racing of his pulse. The thought excites Connor even more.

“What if I said I wanted to take you right here, Connor? Right now?”

In the blink of an eye, Connor has his hands wrapped tight in the lapels of Hank’s jacket, whipping his face around to catch Hank’s in a brutal, sloppy kiss. Hank’s entire hand grasps the whole of Connor’s face, pushing their mouths closer, tongues diving deep between each other’s lips. Connor moans, loud and unbidden and does not care if the echo of it wakes anyone.

Connor closes his eyes, melts in to the strength of Hank’s body as the older man’s other hand clenches tight at his waist. Strong, firm and warm, just as Connor had imagined them, but God it’s so much better to really feel it. There’s even strength behind his kiss, in the way he knocks his teeth and tongue against Connor’s, in the growl that rumbles from his throat as he nips at Connor’s bottom lip.

It’s disgustingly desperate, for both of them, but Connor has little shame in his desire. He spreads his hands along the wide expanse of Hank’s chest, gets to work trying to undo those damn buttons and get a feel of what he _knows_ is beneath those clothes. Hank is faster than he is, less gentle as he reaches down and pulls Connor’s dress shirt up from his pants, hiking the fabric up to his armpits as rough, calloused hands smooth over his sides, his abs, his chest.

God, God, he knew Hank’s hands were big but this is - this is -

Connor groans, arches in to the sensation of Hank’s thick fingers dragging over his skin as he buries his face in to the man’s shoulder. He smells like lemon and herbs, like the sweat he hasn’t yet washed from his skin. Connor breathes deep, licks and nips at the exposed skin of Hank’s neck, tries to draw every bit of _Hank_ in to him as he can.

Connor finally gets the top half of the jacket open and wastes no time pressing his face in the middle of Hank’s chest, nuzzling at the patch of hair there, inhales the scent of him. Hank makes a small, keening sound at the back of his throat, one that Connor can feel vibrate against his lips. Hank’s hands trail from his waist up to Connor’s face, cupping his cheeks and turning his gaze upwards to meet Hank’s. Connor’s lips part, tongue darting out to wet them as Hank leans down and presses a soft kiss to his temple.

“You good?”

Connor can’t help but laugh. Hank is _sweet_ , too, and isn’t that just awful. Connor nods, runs the tip of his nose along Hank’s jawline, dotting little kisses here and there. “Very.”

Just as sudden as the moment they locked lips, Hank wraps his hands tight around Connor’s waist and lifts him up on the counter. Connor squeaks a little at the unexpected show of strength, but it does the trick. Hank is slow to lean back in to him but Connor wraps his legs tight around Hank’s thighs and drags him closer, a pang of arousal coursing through his veins like fire.

Connor hooks his arms around Hank’s shoulders and draws him into another slick kiss, panting as he rocks himself down against the hard length in Hank’s pants. Hank ruts back against him as he runs his palms along Connor’s thighs, daring to dip his fingers inwards towards the damp heat of Connor’s groin. He tries to spread his legs wider for Hank, trying to invite him without words to touch him, let him know what he wants.

Hank gets the message loud and clear as he runs the pad of his thumb up along the crease of Connor’s pants, between his legs. Connor sucks in a sharp breath as that same finger hits the nub of his cock, pressing down against it with just the right pressure. A shaky breath punches its way from his lungs as Hank rubs slow circles in that same spot, lightning impulses of pleasure snaking their way through Connor’s limbs.

It’s good, real good, and if he wasn’t desperate to have Hank fuck him _right now_ , Connor would be happy to sit here letting Hank make him come with his fingers again and again and again. They’ll have time for that later. Instead, Connor slaps his hand against Hank’s neck, draws him down close and kisses him hard enough to bruise. He reaches down between their bodies, wraps his fingers around Hank’s and holds him still, breaking their kiss with wet, puffy lips.

He meets Hank’s gaze with a hungry look, eyes dark and hooded. Hank’s features are positively feral. Connor trembles, squeezes Hank’s hand in his.

“I need you to fuck me right now, Hank.”

For Connor, the next few moments are a bit of a blur. Hank is quick and efficient, flipping him onto his stomach and pressing him down against the cool stone of the counter with a strong hand along his spine. Connor has his hand drawn up against his face as Hank practically tears his pants down, exposing his ass and the wetness between his legs to the cool air of the stage.

Hank’s fingers trail along his inner thighs, stopping just short of the swollen mound of his lips, toying with him. Connor shivers and whines, trying to rock his hips back towards those fingers. He realizes, belatedly, that he’s barely touching the floor and has no purchase with his feet. In this position, he’s very much at Hank’s mercy.

Good _God_.

Hank’s teasing is short, and Connor is eternally grateful. The older man sinks two, thick fingers slowly in to Connor’s pussy, his other hand digging in to the soft flesh of Connor’s ass. The sound that escapes him is absolutely filthy, primitive even. He lets his eyes roll back in to his head as his whole body goes boneless, finally _finally_ getting what he needs.

“Jesus, Connor, look at you.” Hank’s voice shocks him, the rumble and the breathiness hitting Connor somewhere deep and primal. “You want it that bad, don’t you?”

Hank slides his fingers in as deep as they can go, his knuckles brushing against the sensitive skin of Connor’s lips. Connor’s body clenches around him as he lets out a pitched moan, rutting his hips against the countertop in a desperate bid for more, more, _please Hank please, please fuck me_ -

Connor doesn’t notice that Hank is leering over him, mouth close to his ear until Hank is murmuring to him, in that raspy bass tone that drives him wild. “This is pretty unsanitary, Connor. Sure you want me to fuck you here?”

Connor wants to laugh at this, too, but Connor’s never been wetter or harder in his life.

“With fingers like that, Hank, I’d let you fuck me with them on national television.” Hank chuckles in his ear. Why the hell does that turn him on even more? “I really don’t care about sanitation right now.”

Even as Hank pulls back a bit he’s still laughing, soft and warm against Connor’s skin. He shudders at the sensation, even more when Hank lets his fingers slide out of Connor’s body, tracking that wetness along the curve of his ass. Connor hears the zipper of Hank’s pants, the rustle of fabric and he whimpers, the mere thought of Hank’s cock making his mouth water.

And then -

Connor swears he ascends for at least ten seconds as Hank presses the head of his cock against Connor’s pussy, drags it along the slit of his lips before pushing inside, slow and steady. Connor’s fingers grip at the countertop, his spine arching as Hank splits him wide on the length of his dick. Connor doesn’t have to see it to know it’s big, with the way it stretches him open and fills every inch of insides.

A deep, guttural groan echoes from Hank’s lungs as he bows over Connor’s body, one hand solidly on Connor’s hip and the other flat on the counter next to his face. Hank starts with a languid pace as Connor’s body adjusts to the girth. He can’t see Hank, but he can feel when the man drops even closer, the curve of his nose and forehead pressing to the back of Connor’s neck.

“Fuck, Connor, Jesus you feel so fucking _good_.” Hank nips at the skin just at the top of Connor’s shoulder through his shirt, grunting in Connor’s ear as he starts to move. He leaves a damp spot there that Connor barely registers, too far gone in the heat strength _everything_ that is Hank. Each thrust, each snap of Hank’s hips into his body pulls sound after sound from his lungs, makes Connor scrabble for purchase against the counter.

Hank is _big_ , for lack of a better word. Connor has spent many of the episode filmings wondering just what Hank’s cock is like: how thick it is, the color, the flavor, the texture, all of it. Ever since the first day of filming, Connor has rubbed himself raw every night at the thought of Hank using that cock like he is now. Even with it deep inside him, dragging along every inch of his insides, bringing him closer and closer to orgasm, Connor can’t help but bite his lip. The strange, arousal feedback loop of _Hank is fucking me_ as Hank fucks him is almost too much.

Almost.

When Hank grabs him rough at the hips and pulls him partly off the counter, Connor cries out at the sudden shift, the way it moves Hank’s dick inside him. He feels a hand snake around underneath him to slide between his legs, the pad of one thick finger grinding against Connor’s dick. A strangled moan falls from his lips, his thighs trembling as Hank rubs at it over and over, his whole body shaking as he falls apart and comes hard around Hank’s cock inside him.

It’s the best damn orgasm he’s ever had, sanitation be damned.

Connor’s so thoroughly wrecked and so far gone that he doesn’t mind telling Hank to come inside him, that he wants him to. When he does, when Hank’s fingers dig in to the muscle of his hips with bruising force, feels Hank’s release coat the inside of him. Connor is certain he could come again from that alone.

For a few moments they both sit there, trying to catch their breath and process what in the hell just happened. Hank slips his flagging cock out of Connor’s body as he runs a hand along Connor’s spine with a firm, warm pressure. Connor sighs and relaxes into it, focuses on the thrumming afterglow that courses through him and the feel of his wetness and Hank’s come sliding down his thighs.

Jesus, what a mess. When Connor finally gets up and turns to face Hank, the man has that damn smirk on his face. He gives Connor’s ass a gentle slap. Connor jumps, whining at the touch to his still sensitive body.

“Do you still care about sanitation, chef?” Hank loses it halfway through his words, laughing as Connor slaps him on the upper arm.

Hank is going to be the death of him.

“Cross contamination is a serious issue, Mr. Anderson.” Connor is trying desperately not to laugh as he pulls his pants up, letting Hank draw him into an idle kiss. When they part, Hank has a mischievous look in his eyes, one that makes Connor tingle with warmth.

“I suppose you’ll have to give me another lesson, then chef.”

Connor snorts and rolls his eyes before helping Hank clean the set, ensuring no one knows of their very late-night tryst. As they exit the stage, ready to part ways and keep their secret safe, Hank drags that same finger from earlier along the curve of Connor’s cheek, pausing just at the corner of his mouth.

“I’ll see you soon, chef.”

Connor smiles, bites at the corner of his lip. “You as well, Mr. Anderson.”


End file.
